The Passionate and the Proud (20 page)

Elvira Waters, Florence Buttlesworth, and Stella Strep, along with quite a few others, thought this was very funny. They laughed and laughed.

“No, really, this is important,” Emmalee persisted. “Downriver, Pennington’s women…the women, mind you! They’re getting the name stakes ready for the rush. They have hundreds already. We haven’t even begun.”

“Why should we listen to you?” inquired Elvira Waters. “Mr. Horace Torquist is the boss of this here train. If he figures we ought to be cuttin’ stakes, he’ll tell us.”

“Right,” agreed the others, more or less in unison. “We’ll wait an’ do what Mr. Torquist says.”

Emmalee realized two things: One, they weren’t about to listen to her; two, they would never believe that Torquist was capable of wrong. She excused them their first lapse; it was the second that was truly frightening.

Myrtle intercepted Emmalee, who was on her way to the river.

“How’d it go?”

“They didn’t listen to me.”

“It ain’t surprising. I’ll have a little chat with ’em. Where you going?”

“To cut some stakes of my own. I don’t need to wait for Horace Torquist to tell me what to do.”

Randy and the other men came straggling back into camp at nightfall, subdued but tense. Emmalee showed him the stakes she had fashioned, with their names,
ALDEN
and
CLAY
, carved into the wood and accentuated with bootblack so they would be easily discernible. He was delighted. They went over to the campfire, where Emmalee got him a tin mug full of coffee and a plate of cornbread and beans. Emmalee sensed in the men who had returned, including Torquist, a kind of edgy, bitter resolve. Randy did not want to discuss it.

“What you women don’t know won’t hurt you, Mr. Torquist said.”

“Forget Horace Torquist for a moment. I’m going to be your
wife
! If there’s danger, we’re in it together. That’s how things are.”

Randy thought it over and reckoned that she had a point. “You know those wagons Pennington has positioned upriver? Mr. Torquist has decided to challenge the men in those wagons for water rights north of town. Pennington’s already got a tremendous advantage south of Arcady. But even he hasn’t enough people to get a monopoly upriver.”

“What do you mean, ‘challenge’ them,” asked Emmalee.

Randy glanced around and lowered his voice.

“We’ll fight if we have to,” he said.

“Fight?”

“Shhh. Lower your voice. The women are not to know.”

With difficulty, Emmalee stayed calm. “Not to know? Not to
know
? This group has always prided itself, perhaps unduly, on being peaceable. Now we’ve just arrived in Olympia, where Mr. Torquist wanted to found a peaceable community, and on the very first day he’s planning violence…”

“That’s not the way it is,” Randy tried to protest.

“And he doesn’t want us women to know? What if something is going to happen to you? Don’t you think I have a right to know about that?”

“Shhh! Em, please be quiet. Nothing is going to happen. Mr. Torquist feels that if we fight them right away, this once, over the water rights north of town, well, then we’ll never have to fight again. If you show that you’re strong, your enemies will want peace. That’s the way good Christians have always conducted themselves. And Em, when we claim land, all you women are going to be back here in camp.”

“This
woman will not be.”

“Em…”

“No.”

They stopped talking and looked at each other, self-consciously aware that they were quarreling.

“I’ve found us two good plots on a creek near the river,” Randy said quietly. “I’ll claim them both for us. If I can. It’s one of the sites that Pennington’s men have their eyes on.”

“So you think there’ll be a fight over it?”

“Likely.”

“Then I’m going to be there.”

Randy did not quite know what to make of this obduracy. “Mr. Torquist,” he pronounced, “is going to order
all
of you to remain in Arcady on the day of the rush.” In his voice was a note of unchallengeable finality.

“It’s just possible that not everyone will obey him,” Emmalee said.

Randy frowned but said no more about it, especially when Torquist arrived to speak to his people and, in passing, praised Emmalee by name for sounding the warning about preparation of the name stakes.

Emmalee was staying at the Bents’ wagon again, until such time as Torquist should have opportunity to contemplate her immediate fate, and Randy walked her there with his good arm around her waist. Their little spat was all but forgotten now—he expected that she would have the good sense to remain in Arcady; she was determined to claim her own land—and when he pulled her close to him in the soft shadow of a whispering cottonwood, their kiss was full-hearted. Lost in the kiss, conscious of the fire building in their bodies, Emmalee had a fleeting sensation of the speed with which time was passing. Events of long ago mingled and melded with this very night, one kiss recalled ail kisses, and the hungry, voluptuous warmth spreading throughout her body in slow, spasmodic waves suggested past pleasures of a dangerous kind. Randy’s hand caressed her breast through the calico. His mouth was ravenous, kissing her…

Suddenly he pulled away. “This isn’t right, Em. We oughtn’t to do this yet. But you make me forget…”

She heard herself panting, gasping. His kiss had left an emptiness that was greater than his kiss could have filled, a fact that she knew to be true even as she understood that it did not seem to make sense.

“Hey! Who’s that smoochin’ underneath that tree? Get out into the moonlight so’s I can see you better.”

“It’s Ebenezer.” Emmalee giggled.

“Caught in the act.” Randy said.

“Just who I been lookin’ for.” Ebenezer cackled as Emmalee and Randy stepped out of the shadow. He reached into his trouser pocket—he no longer affected the big, slotted belt—and withdrew a piece of paper. Emmalee couldn’t see it clearly but she knew what it was as soon as Ebenezer said, “Em, Garn Landar said for me to give you this. Said he found it an’ it’s yours.”

The one-hundred-dollar bill. Garn must have picked it up that night behind the boulders in Denver.

Randy misunderstood. “I told that bastard I didn’t want anything from him,” he cried, grabbing furiously at the money.

Emmalee, fearful lest he destroy it, clutched at the note too.

There was a clean, dry, ripping sound as they tore the bill in half.

“J-just as well,” faltered Randy, as he squinted at the note in the moonlight and perceived its denomination.

“That there is Em’s money,” said Ebenezer. “I paid it to her for taking care of Bernice. It just got lost an’ got found, is all.”

“It’s still tainted. It passed through Landar’s hands,” Randy said, thinking of seed corn, cows, chickens, and farm implements, thinking of Emmalee’s freedom from Torquist. “Nothing good can come of tainted money.”

“It
ain’t
tainted,” protested Ebenezer. “That was all I had left of my past, after the Yankees got through with me. An’ it’s still good. The two parts are clear and identifiable. You can read the serial number. Give it to me if you don’t want it.”

Gently, but firmly, Emmalee took Randy’s half of the bill. “I’ll keep it for now. We’ll spend it on what we need most. That can’t hurt.”

“I don’t like it,” Randy maintained. “Everything Landar touches turns bad. He was going to get us to Denver before Pennington. He didn’t. Now he’s in Olympia, corrupting this land with his presence, just as he dirtied the money with his touch. I tell you, everything he gets his hands on turns bad.”

Randy had, in his anger at Garn, let his tongue get away from him. Now, realizing what he’d said, he ceased talking and stared at Emmalee in anguished and apologetic horror. She was looking at him with hurt in her eyes, as if he’d struck her. The fact was there between them: Garn Landar’s touch had also been on Emmalee, on the most secret and sacred places of her body, those Randy himself had not yet touched or seen.

The twin fragments of the tom piece of money seemed almost to represent Randy and Emmalee themselves, distanced by Garn Landar’s effect on both of them.

Emmalee awoke very early on the day of the land rush, rolled up her bedding, gathered towel, soap, and brush, and walked down to the river. She’d finished washing and was slowly brushing her long hair, sun-bleached now from months on the trail, when Hester Brine appeared. The orange-haired woman nodded in a friendly, matter-of-fact way, set a hairbrush and small covered container down on the riverbank, and began her ablutions. In bearing and manner, Hester reminded Emmalee of Myrtle, except that Myrtle did not use artificial hair coloring, which Hester began to rub vigorously into her scalp from the little container.

Emmalee realized that she was staring.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Hester said, grinning with her false teeth. “A little vanity never hurt anybody. Your turn’ll come some day. Sure, you’re a stunner now. Got a fine man who wants to marry you and another one who’d have you if he could…”

Otis! thought Emmalee. Some man gave you a ride on his horse and half the world had you pegged as lovers.

“Are you from Olympia, Hester?” she asked, changing the subject as she folded her towel.

“Naw. Casper, Wyoming. You?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“Honey, that is so far east I can’t hardly imagine it exists. Vestor Tell’s from there.”

“From Pennsylvania? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. He’s always sendin’ or gettin’ telegrams from Philadelphia. That’s where he’s gettin’ money, I figure. Money to loan the settlers.”

“Is he allowed to do that? He’s the claims agent. It’s a government job.”

“He’s also the chief—and only—law enforcement officer in this part of the territory. If settlers need money, you think they’re gonna care who they get it from? By the way,” she added, “you don’t have to be proud. I been down and out in my day, too, so if you want a loan, see me quick. I don’t have all that much, but I can help you out. I
like
you, girl.”

“Thank you, but Randy and I will manage.”

Hester shook her head, began combing out her orange hair. “You remind me of me when I was your age. Hope you don’t have to do the things I did to make ends meet. Good luck to you today, and just remember, I offered.”

Vestor Tell rode down the line on an Arabian gelding that could have cost more than any ten of Torquist’s Conestogas combined. Watching him, Emmalee was reminded of something out of its element, an entity superficially superior to its immediate surroundings, yet unsatisfied. Tell was subtle and keen. He would betray neither edginess nor anxiety, because he did not suffer from either of these. But he was very lean, in form and visage, and hunger he could not conceal.

But hunger for what?

“I’ll fire the starting pistol shot at nine
A.M.
,” Tell told everyone, “and if you don’t know what to do then, neither God nor Andy Johnson can help you.”

Mention of hapless President Andrew Johnson brought laughter from both fanners and ranchers, no matter that they would soon be locked in struggle to see who grabbed the choicest land Abe Lincoln’s successor had narrowly escaped impeachment. The forthcoming presidential election, however, did not directly affect the pioneers. As citizens of a mere territory, such as Olympia was, they were not permitted to vote. But in time Olympia would become a state, and every man present on the day of this great western land rush knew that immeasurable amounts of future power might be won by the judicious choice of land today. Upriver? Downriver? Close to the mountains or farther away? Land was the future and land was money, but which was the wisest choice of land and where did the greatest power lie?

Torquist, Emmalee recalled, had spoken of Thomas Jefferson’s faith in the land and in the goodness of the people who lived on it. Perhaps this would always be so. Sitting next to Randy on his dapple-gray, waiting for Vestor Tell to fire the pistol that could begin the land rush, she wanted only for future generations to remember this day.
At one time,
she thought, her eyes tearing a little, at one time on the face of this earth it was possible for someone like me, who had lost everything, who had nothing, to gamble life and time against fate and fortune and let the chips fall!

“One minute!” bellowed Vestor Tell.

Had there been an observer situated in a high place overlooking Arcady today, he would have seen arrayed on both banks of the Big Two-Hearted, north and south of the village, a veritable army of men, women and children, animals and wagons. Just as Torquist had feared, the Pennington ranchers were in the most advantageous positions. But this morning, with the starting gun imminent, the sheer expectant energy of the fanners seemed to offer them an edge of their own. They were ready, and some of them were ready to fight if need be. Emmalee and Randy had already fought.

“Well, this is it, I guess,” he’d said, while saddling the dapple-gray after breakfast. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Emmalee had said, pulling on her riding boots.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m putting on my boots.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

An expression of alarm replaced the initial disbelief on his face, alarm over what might happen to her combined with shock that she was going to persist in defying his wishes.

“Em, I thought we settled this yesterday.”

“I thought we did too. I’m going.”

“The rest of the women are staying here in camp.”

“Some of them are, but not all. Take a look around.”

Randy did, and he was as surprised as he was displeased with what he saw. Here and there throughout the area, a husband stood with hands on his hips watching in consternation his wife or, in some cases, his mother readying herself for the rush.

“Some of the women got to talking about it last night,” Emmalee explained. “Our point is that there’ll be less chance of violence with women present. Don’t you think so?”

Randy was flabbergasted. “I can’t believe you’re doing this! This is not the way things are supposed to be!”

“How are things supposed to be? You or Willard Buttlesworth or even old Festus gives the orders and womenfolk obey?”

“Well…well, yes, but only in important affairs. Em, you know I’m no tyrant, but…I’m worried about what might happen out there today. Please stay here in Arcady.”

“No,” Emmalee said. Her boots were on now. She stood up and faced him.

“I don’t have room on my horse for you. I have to pack the stakes, and a shovel, and some wire.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll go borrow Myrtle’s mule.”

Myrtle didn’t need Ned anyway. She intended to claim just a few acres outside town for a garden. And she strongly encouraged Emmalee’s plan.

“A man is sort of like a mule or an ox, Em,” Myrtle said. “If you stand in front of them and bang them over the head, nothin’ will happen. But if you get behind ’em, they’ll wonder what you’re up to and they’ll usually move, at least a little.”

“Em,” said Randy when she arrived beside him aboard the mule, “I guess there’s nothing I can say to stop you. But listen. I’ve picked out land upriver and everything depends on me getting there quickly. You’ll never be able to keep up on that mule. So this is what you have to do. When you reach a place where a small stream flows into the river—you can’t miss it; it’s the only stream on the east bank—ride upchannel for about a quarter of a mile. You’ll see three white pines on a low hill. I will have placed one of my corner stakes there. You do the same. I’ll have headed north, you go south. Pace off a square of land, don’t forget to drive your markers deep in each corner, and we’ll meet back at the original stakes, all right?”

“It sounds exciting.”

“I hope it’s not more exciting than we’ve bargained for.”

Vestor Tell rode his horse to a place in front of Hester’s general store, took a pistol from his holster, and raised it into the air.

“Prepare to stake your claims,” he called. “No man’s marker, once set in the ground, is to be touched by anyone else. First come, first served. I will officiate in case adjudication is required, and all claims are to be entered upon my map at the end of the day. Understood?”

A low, anxious hum of assent answered him. Drivers tightened reins, braced in saddles, readied their whips.

“All right…” said Tell, and fired the pistol into the air, a thin, sharp crack beneath the sweeping sky. Drivers lurched forward, hooting and shouting; women and children yelled and squealed encouragement. The animals, startled by the suddenness and frenzy, bolted forward from the riverbanks and onto the plain.

Randy stole a moment to lean from his horse and give Emmalee a quick kiss, then he was gone, galloping into the distance, his marker stakes jouncing against the horse’s flanks. Emmalee kicked the mule furiously for half a minute. It finally deigned to move into a slow, ambling lope. The race had barely begun and already she was far behind.

On both sides of the river, as far as the eye could see, pioneers rushed to secure a piece of the living earth, so that they and their children and their children’s children might have hearth and home.

Festus Bent, his wife, along with Priscilla, Cynthia, and Darlene, rattled by in their wagon, going hell-for-leather into the hills. Festus did not intend to be a sharecropper any more.

“Yo, Em!” called Priscilla. “I saw Garn Landar. He’s back there in town.”

For a moment, Emmalee was nonplussed. The Bent girls hadn’t let her forget what had happened between her and Garn, nor had they ceased speculating as to whether or not it would happen again.

“What are you doing here then?” she shot back. “He told me he was looking for you.”

But, in truth, Emmalee wondered what Garn was up to now. If he had any big schemes connected with claiming good land, sitting around Arcady while the land rush was under way could hardly be considered a likely start.

The pioneers scattered pell-mell at top speed all over the plain, and even Myrtle’s mule got caught up in the excitement and increased its speed a bit. Not fast enough, though, to outdistance a shouting, cursing Pennington man in a red bandanna, who streaked past Emmalee and gave her a loutish leer. It was Alf Kaiserhalt, who’d yanked her out of the willows yesterday. His presence north of town did not augur well for a peaceful day; Kaiserhalt, scrawny bantam that he was, left a palpable aura of meanness in his wake. The sight of him made Emmalee want to wash herself all over, rid herself of the residue of malevolence he left in the air.

Riding north, Emmalee kept her eyes peeled for evidence of the Pennington men claiming water rights along the river. She saw, with considerable pleasure, that Torquist himself had driven his stakes into a rich swath of land just north of Arcady, and that Virgil Waters and sinewy El-wood Bliss of Iowa had done likewise right across the Big Two-Hearted. So the farmers would have at least some access to the precious water. This fact, however, did not content Emmalee for long. She remembered the false claims Torquist was undertaking today and also that there were miles of riverbank which Pennington and his men might readily seize.

By the time the mule had carried her as far as the small stream that Randy had mentioned, Emmalee’s hopes for the day had broken down. In spite of intentions, the presence of women was not preventing trouble. Emmalee heard yelling and shouting near the river and in the hills, and saw with a sinking feeling that a scuffle had broken out between Festus Bent and Lambert Strep. If the farmers could not refrain from fighting between themselves, what hope was there in the long run? Lambert wrestled Festus to the ground as Bent’s wife and daughters danced around like idiots, trying, apparently, to crack their father’s attacker on the skull. Emmalee made a mental note of the scene, in case it should be important later. She wondered how Vestor Tell would resolve contested claims.

Bent was on top of Strep and his women were cheering wildly when Emmalee turned upstream and rode into the hills. At first she was disheartened. The land rose abruptly from the river and the hills through which the little stream flowed were steep, almost rugged. She saw very few pioneers surveying this section, having been discouraged by the comparative severity of the terrain. But beyond the ring of hills, revealed to her suddenly as she urged the mule over the crest, was a small, high, sweet plain, a rolling expanse of gentle hills and shady groves. Immediately she understood why Randy had chosen this area: The land was rich and sheltered; the stream would provide water, all but eliminating dependence upon the Big Two-Hearted. Then she saw the three white pines he had named as a landmark and rode toward them happily. He was driving his initial stake into the ground beneath the pines. She thought he ought to be farther along by now, since he’d gone on ahead, but it didn’t seem to matter because there was no one else around to vie with him for the claim.

Randy began to look a little funny to Emmalee as she rode nearer.

Then he looked very strange.

And when she got right up close to him he looked exactly like Alf Kaiserhalt, who was pounding a stake that read
A. K’HLT
into the din. He looked up at her and grinned evilly.

“Well, lookee who’s here, would ya? If it ain’t that snoopy little spitfire from yesterday. Did Otis get what he wanted o ffn you?”

Emmalee pulled Ned to a halt and looked around. This had to be the place Randy had meant; he really ought to be there, she hadn’t seen him anywhere else. And she didn’t see a sign of him there either.

Kaiserhalt was holding a mallet in one hand and looking up at her, his head cocked to one side like a fighting rooster set to attack.

“Otis just gave me a ride home yesterday,” Emmalee said, almost civilly.

“Heh-heh. Shows what you know. Otis got a real bad case for you. Trouble with him, he’s a gentleman. I ain’t.”

“That’s obvious,” said Emmalee. She started to dismount.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’m getting off this mule.”

Randy had told her to plant a stake and then go south. Kaiserhalt was there, and there was nothing to stop him from making a claim, but there seemed no reason for Emmalee not to go ahead with her plans.